


Bored

by DoctorBilly



Series: Tales from the Billyverse [29]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 19:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8909296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: Sherlock is bored
This ficlet is a response to the December 2016 Sherlock Challenge. The prompt was "Christmas", so it seemed a good opportunity to take another look through the  Secret Door





	

**Author's Note:**

> The door took me to Tate Britain, which just happens to have one of my favourite Christmas trees this year. 
> 
> The story is set in the Billyverse, in 2016, after the series Seaglass and Tattoos and is a foreshadow of Chimæra . It fills in one of the missing days in my advent calendar. 
> 
> Read the first story of Chimæra for context. And welcome to the Billyverse!

 

“They're everywhere you look. It's very irritating.”

Sherlock huffs out an annoyed breath as a couple, arm in arm, barge past him. He raises his voice

“I wonder if he knows he's not the only…”

“Please, Sherlock. No rude deductions. I don't have time to smooth over ruffled public feathers today.”

Sherlock sniffs in his brother’s direction.

“I thought you looked in a hurry to get away from your office. Meeting Logan are you?” He sneers, lip curling. “Going Christmas shopping together? Having a cosy _supper a deux_?”

  
Mycroft sighs.

“Yes, I am meeting Jack. Why did you follow me here? Bored?”

“Yes. And you know why.”

Sherlock stalks slowly around the rotunda space, looking up occasionally at the large pine tree, suspended upside down from the centre of the newly-refurbished ceiling.

“What is the point of hanging it upside down?”

Mycroft stays where he is, not giving in to the urge to tap a polished black oxford impatiently.

“The artist claims it is an attempt to seek what is hidden, rather than that which is apparent.” He shrugs. “Perhaps DCI Lestrade…”

“You know Lestrade won't give me anything with any meat to it. He says there's nothing happening. I don't believe him, of course. I know he's acting under your instructions. But he makes excuses. His office moving to the new building; new staff to train, blah, blah. I think he's trying to cover for you. Ridiculous.” Sherlock shakes his head impatiently. “And anyway, he is preoccupied with Billy. You'd think he'd have learned his lesson, there. I tried asking Dimmock if I could join him for the Christmas Eve shift, boring as that is likely to be, but he's going to be off somewhere with his fireman. I don't understand the need for everyone to be part of a _couple_ at Christmas time…”

Mycroft realises that Sherlock is brooding over John Watson.

“Sherlock. John…”

“I know your feelings about John, Mycroft. I am grateful for your assistance with medical matters . But I will not allow you to dictate how I conduct my personal life.”

“You intend to move in with him when he is discharged?”

“No. I like Baker Street. But I will not cut him out of my life because of an… unfortunate incident.”

Mycroft clears his throat.

“There might be something you could do. Not a matter of state. Something more personal…”

“Will it get me out of London over Christmas?”

“Yes. How would you like a little holiday in Finland?”

“What's in Finland?”

“Some research that is of interest to me. And a missing researcher.”

“You want me to find this researcher?”

“Just ascertain his whereabouts. And track down the unpublished part of his current research paper. Don't make any waves. And don't let him become aware of you. This is not official, Sherlock. Not a case. Nothing to do with MI6. You will be on your own.”

Sherlock scowls.

“You’ll arrange transport? And relevant introductions?”

Mycroft nods

“Yes. Anthea will sort out the details. You can probably leave tomorrow.”

Sherlock nods, smiles briefly.

“Thank you.”

He turns to leave.

“Sherlock…”

He stops in his tracks, waits.

“Happy Christmas, little brother.”

 


End file.
